


I bite like a lion too, you fuck

by orphan_account



Series: British Hamsandwich Spy AU [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ANY W AY, AU, BAMF Alex, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Recovery sorta, Unhealthy Relationships, not a lot of //direct// interaction but it is implied, read the first if you haven't pls, tH IS IS SO HISTORICALLY INACCURATE THAT THE ONLY THING CORRECT IS THEIR NAMES, the one where Alex is a British spy, this one also has very little romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9680036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The road to recovery only happens after a wound is inflicted. Good thing King George is prone to not understanding the basics of a romantic relationship.However, George is still a king, and as a king, he will learn how to fix his mistakes so he may lead himself onto the right path through the sparks of correction that begs him to.And Alexander will learn that even a lion is born watching from the sidelines.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi, d I D YOU KNOW THAT NOT EVERY RELATIONSHIP IS LIKE A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS AND CLOUD KISSES????

The first day Alex had spent within the castle consisted mostly of pampering from the maids and servants that George waved over. Apparently, his appearance was not acceptable, neither was his presence it seems. The guards that stood at unnecessarily large doors and in hallways wore hateful expressions towards him, which was fine, he'd wear something that nasty too if some 14-year-old brat that looked lighter than three quills managed to take out his friends. Actually, Alex never really had friends, but if he _did_ and they were attacked by some brat, then that brat would be dead no doubt.

Anyone Alex loved would be treated with the utmost respect, and any harm that dares to disturb their universe would be given only the worst end. People in his group would stay in his group, alive, healthy, and untouched by the corruption that was tainted blood. He'd be a shield. He'd _protect_ , _kill_ even. That was fair, right? The world takes a piece of those he cherished, and Alex will take a piece out of the world. A tense pause. He continued to think.

The day progresses nevertheless, in waves of heavy glares brimming with red, chattering teeth that let out discriminating rumors, alongside hands that shot out from their resting positions to pull him from one place to another. Like a _puppet_. That thought made his fingers feel stiff and twitchy because Alex didn't mind being called names - _puppet_ , though? Puppet and any other synonym to the noun was not acceptable.

He had left the chess field that was the Nevis due to the fact that he had been just another _pawn_ in the game.

"The maids were really touchy, I don't like touchy," Alex mumbled, half awake as George kept his arms wrapped around Alex's scrawny frame. The light of the swaying flame grew thinner and thinner, the room's brightness dipped into darkness and yet Alex still did not zip his mouth close; even now the boy was muttering things, and George was still listening, "I also don't like a lot of things - I don't like my friends getting hurt... I don't really have friends, though, so I guess I can't validate my thoughts; wait, I'm naturally supposed to.... To..."

"Sleep? Yes, my dearest _puppet_ you are naturally supposed to sleep," This was the first mistake George had made. In the darkness that numbed everything, George didn't take into consideration the sharp jerk of an elbow that dug into his ribs, he had just shifted to ease the uncomfortable feeling, then lied down next to Alex after he tucked his 'puppet' into bed.

Along the way, Alex stopped counting the mistakes George made. The year had been full of them after all. It had been cute at first, the little pet-names, the tiny nudges to just get Alex's eyes on George's shark-teeth smile, and the shark-teeth smile that Alex had made his own mistake of confusing with an innocent one. So many mistakes, so many errors, so many red crosses that the days had piled up alone. There was probably enough to replace the population of the United Kingdom.

On the bright side, if there was even a bright side, Alex learned a lot about his 'significant other.' George had a tendency to call everyone else his dearest puppet; he also had a high demand on eyes to be pointed towards him; not to mention George seemed to constantly need Alex's hand on his own: "It's because I can never get enough of your warmth, my dearest." He'd say to him, the same smile he'd give to everyone else on his face as Alex picks out the words, rearranging them to what actually was the truth, "It's because you'll leave if I don't have you here."

Well, George wasn't wrong. If there was a moment where Alex could be given the opportunity to leave, he'd bolt out of the castle so quickly his joints would pop out of their sockets. Except there had been countless times where George needed to do something private, and Alex's brain had processed the entire escape route and way out of the castle. Hell, there had been times where George had taken his hand and bore a tight smile that told of his anxiety, since those had been the time where George figured that Alex would want to go out into the town.

The town wasn't hard to map out. There wasn't much to take into notice, except for the frightened expression of the civilians who decided to look over. They were fearful of him as he was fearful of leaving George’s side - for if he were to ever escape, King George would send hundreds after him no doubt. The growing king was young, rash and obsessive over any piece of toy he had. And the problem was that nobody could affect him in their revolts.

Now an entire year has passed and Alex knows all the guards that protect certain rooms and hallways, and he's well acquainted with one particular boy in George's personal staff.

Dark skin that looked heavily calloused from battles no matter which angle you stood, a permanent-esque frown alongside a pair of wanderlust brown eyes, plus a memorable height that made him more approachable in Alexander's terms. Anyone as short as him had the 'privilege' to be graced by Alexander's forever unbound mouth. It wasn't a problem getting to each other, considering the fact that Alex's friend appeared to always be roaming the hallways. They were destined to meet each other at some point.

But when they did meet, they talked.

Their conversations were never super personal, although they were, in the soldier's term. According to the boy who Alexander has opted to nickname "Johnny" instead of his actual name, nobody ever wanted to come up to him with the idea to strike up a conversation because everyone had assumed his ignorance due to his young age, plus his weak health that left him coughing here and there. At that Alex had scoffed, gesturing to himself and saying in an amused tone,

"People have assumed my ignorance in every single category available back when I was living in the post-apocalyptic land that used to be my home, _Little_ Johnny. Well, they're dead now, so use their assumptions to your advantage."

"Please don't call me 'little,' sir... And... I don't suppose to have anything to say about my lack of health?" Johnny raised an elegant eyebrow, his frown twitching just the slightest at Alex's words. This had been the conversation that started their long friendship, if Alex can clearly recall. A breeze swept through the room, so did a shiver that ran up both their spines in the hallway they walked down.

"You're in King George's personal staff, you're here for a reason if he hasn't guillotined your ass yet," Alex shrugged off the alarmed expression his friend bore at his vulgar choice of words. In all honesty, anyone who has heard Alex say anything enacted the same reaction, so this wasn't unexpected, except the way Johnny had reeled himself back made Alex grin, "And I won't let him if he does, you're the only one that didn't _immediately_ hate me when I first got here - in fact, I think you were quite interested; I'm a darling I know, but please, we're both 15."

"How do you know my age?" Johnny's widened both at the inappropriate comment and at the knowledge Alex knew. It made the other feel rather bare; 'Are people already assuming?' he thought. However, the words he already spoke were ones that prompted a long discussion afterward, Alex's mouth shooting off faster than bullets during war while Johnny's ears remained open like unmoving targets.

Johnny always seemed unmoving, like a statue whose morals stayed put in place no matter the situation.

You see, what drew Alex in was how Johnny had radiated pure mystique, which made for a perfect home-base to travel back to whenever George's open palm turned into an iron fist. None of the other maids could give the same worth as the other could, provided they could get over their internalized fear of casually conversing with 'Prince Hamilton' as the guards addressed him by. Another thing too, nobody got over that title that had suddenly been thrown to him minus any practices a real prince would have to go through. It had just been there! Given by King George who disciplined everyone to call Alex by.

Discipline. Discipline. That was all George ever really did. Everything George does had some undertone of discipline in them, hell, even the act of 'domestically' helping wash Alex's hair had a hint of discipline because George had an equally uncontrollable mouth like Alex - the difference that drew them apart was how they chose to speak. George's words were painful. Like palette knives people don't expect to be so sharp at the edges.

Sometimes it wasn't just words that hurt him, that begged for Alex to stop being so defiant against his wishes, words that kicked Alex right in the shin, causing him to kneel down to his king and bow apologetically because even as George's significant other, he was still treated like an adored children's toy. There were days where there were actions that made Alex feel so out of place, it made him feel embarrassed to even call himself George's beloved. It was never anything inappropriate, George was smart enough to know it'd be better not to taint his reputation _that_ far. Nevertheless, the hugs always lasted too long, and the pats on the head felt too heavy, and the fucking hand that laid on his shoulder always felt too dangerous.

Dangerous. Yes. Instead of loving George like most people had assumed he had been in England for, Alex has never experienced more fear towards one single man than George William Frederick. Dangerous was what he described their times alone together. Which meant that every chance he has, Alexander would turn heel, dashing out hi - ' _their_ ' bedroom in search of Johnny. Because Johnny understood, Johnny had always understood in his neutral silence of open opportunities.

The relationship Alex had with him had been a secret. If George found out, then his bestfriend would be thrown in jail and Alex's days in the castle would be incredibly violent, emotionally and maybe even physically. He had grown attached to the boy whose dark brown eyes had grown to shift like sand into something more friend-casual; whose frown always melted into a neutral expression, one ready to morph into a smile or a sneer out of sympathy for him; the boy who had restrained wanderlust as a disease that plagued Alex equally as much. The boy whose life is at stake if they weren't careful.

"If I die I think I'd be okay," Johnny had randomly said during their talk. Alex's grip on the new knife he had gotten tightened, and the grin he had been wearing slipped off the face of the Earth. Arguing was what he wanted to do, because arguing for people's life was what he grew used to after a month of living alongside George, and yet, "I mean, at least I'd be somewhere else. Somewhere else is all I dreamed of."

"I dream of somewhere else too, a place far away from King George, from here," He mumbled. It was evident in their past conversations about their hopes and dreams, that 'from here' was not the elsewhere Johnny had dreamed past moons about. It was the only thing that connected their hearts together, though, their desire to have the soles of their feet be on any other ground than the one they were forced to be on, "But where _do_ you want to be?"

"Well, Hamil - ah, _Alex_... I'll have to get used to that, but uhm, I want to be in a field where I can remember that freedom smells like wildflowers and sunrise's early fog," Alex scooted closer to Johnny as he talked, they were in a walk-in closet with their backs against a drawer. The walk-in closet itself was in one of the many guest rooms, "Where we could even _see_ the sun, and feel the warmth in the sunbeams. I want to sit in front of a quaint house that welcomed all in its solitude, but also be one of the only ones that actually live in the house."

'One of the only ones.'

"Who else do you want to live in the house? You mentioned 'one of the only ones,' who are the others?" Johnny gives a shaky smile, coughing into his arm to hide it. Despite that attempt, Alex could read the humor in his eyes and he could see the glint of ivory white teeth from a part of his mouth that could not be hidden at the angle Alex was at, "Johnny? Are you having an affair with one of the maids... Or the servants. They're all really old s -"

"Of course not, Ham... - Alex...! Wait... Ham, that's uh, that's a pretty funny nickname, isn't it?" From the way Alex's eyes narrowed along with the frown that pulled the look of neutrality into finality, Johnny had no other choice but to roll his shoulders in order to lessen the tension in his muscles, and, "I was hoping maybe one day we could escape this place and leave to my home, if it's still standing that is - I hope it is. I'd be fulfilling my end of the quid pro quo between us."

'Quid pro quo.'

"Johnny, I am touched, really, but that wasn't a quid pro quo," He tightly grasps Johnny's arm, using it like a pillar so he could shift himself into a position where he could lean against the young soldier, "I assume you're referring to my openness in our friendship and our friendship in general," Alex looks over to his friend who nods slowly, embarrassed expression becoming pure bemusement as Alex continues, "Yeah - see, it's like I said last time, you _accepted_ me when all the other maids and servants were too scared to think of me other than another mean-spirited ruler, and when all your fellow soldiers had wanted nothing more than my head on a silver platter."

"So - "

"You're _my friend_ , nothing's gonna change that - not even... Not even my prick of a 'boyfriend' that's also a stupid king. Why am I willing to go that far you may wonder? Because I love you okay? You dumbfuckass, I love you. You're my _best_ friend, scratch that, my _only bestfrend_ , plus your presence is wanted; I _need_ the normality you possess to keep me alive and sane. And being normal is fine by the way, I appreciate the normal since it helps balance out my... Outlandishness."

It was awkward for a bit. The air had changed considerably, all tension being released as though someone had found someone else to pull the other end of the knot. Johnny opened his mouth, probably done trying to filter out the words he _could_ say so he could formulate an equally genuine sentence. In reality, anything the two says in the moment of pure honesty right now, would be truer than any other moment. Johnny then said -

_Creak_

Ah.

The door opened inwardly with a powerful gust of wind barging inside the platonic heat.

"Well well, if it isn't my beloved doll and... 'Johnny,'" There in his corrupted might stood King George III, on his face was a sneer so nasty that all the filthy words thrown to Alex in the past became pleasant in comparison. Complete, utter, _fear_ seeped into newly opened wounds in Alex's mind, and the boy who was capable of turning the faces of all of the king's soldier pale, rattled like cold teeth in response, "'Johnny....' be a dear and _leave_. I'll decide what to do with you later."

At first the soldier had been reluctant, his reluctancy showing when it had been obvious the way Johnny's hand tightened its grip on Alex's. The attempt was short-lived, however, the moment George had raised his voice, screeching a, " _Get out!_ " Alex had shoved the soldier to his feet, quickly choking out, "I'll be fine, _go_!" albeit the dawning sorrow that drowned his eyes when the bedroom door clicked closed. A sign that George and Alex were now alone, and when the closet door also clicked closed, then so did the gears in Alex's brain.

Before the animosity in George's mind could overwhelm him, Alex exploded into tears - wailing, crying, kicking and screaming frantically for George to just... Stop hurting him. To Alex, he had been confused, frustrated at himself because why in the world is he begging a man to stop harming him, when all George has done was say a few words that had hurt his feelings? It was stupid to him. He shouldn't be crying over such a petty problem, and yet he was and he was doing it so immensely that the tears racked through his bones like an Earthquake. He felt cold. He felt like he was drowning.

All the pent up rage became devastation, and the cracks that followed such was flooded by an ocean of protesting words he wanted to say to George in the past, but never did out of fear that his joy could be ended. And the dark, thick moss that had grown over the wounds turned into ashes from phrases George had said to him, the phrases that had lasted longer than any of the scars he proudly wore, the phrases that hurt him so badly that even talking to Johnny couldn't stop his heart from bringing them up. Alex curled up with arms wrapping around himself in attempt to hug the fallen pieces back together.

Everything burned as old memories became logs of firewood adding onto the coiling snake of furious flames. Alex's lungs began to ache due to every slash quick breath taken in. Somebody so far away had poured gunpowder down his throat, letting the sensation scratch at his insides despite the liquid insults that thickly clunked together alongside the explosive material. Everything. Fucking. _Hurt_.

It was like a cloudburst in the middle of summer. Alex remembers his mom leading him outside on days where the sun felt warm, and freedom tasted like the exiting fog kissing him goodbye. She held his hand and walked in silence to go look for some pretty flowers to collect. Alex also remembers the clouds cackling as the atmosphere shifted into a dead cold kind of quiet. The kind of quiet his dad often gave to him mom. Rain poured afterward. Rain so sharp, heavy, and murderous that it had been enough to feel like pin prickling needles that threaded through his body in order to sew its texture into his brain permanently.

He had been as close to fine one moment, and now it felt like a cloudburst in the middle of summer.

And despite what Alex had previously thought, George's sudden calm demeanor on the situation disrupted the balance even more than his anger did. Without having to look, Alex could feel a shuddering wind smooth over the bumps of sand in his mental beach as George left the walk-in closet. There was snot on the sleeve of his dark emerald waistcoat. His hair was still neat in a messy bun, if not then a bit damp. There was sweat pouring down the side of his face due to the stuffiness of the room, and Alexander felt himself slowly drift off to sleep from pure exhaustion. Drowning was hard to do, after all.

That night, he dreamt of seeing himself sleeping underneath a fig tree beside Johnny who was awake, eyes flicking every once and awhile to Alex's sleeping form and also onto the pages of the book he held. Everything 5 feet from the two had been a smear of white that dissolved into complete nothingness. For a moment, Alex felt okay watching what could be his future. The serenity of the green grass plus the few flowers that bloomed beautifully in color beside them had been pleasant. This was what Johnny had wanted. Alex wanted this too.

However, dreams could not last long, for the hurricane had called for his attention.

"- ton! Alexander Hamilton! Sir, please wake up!" He is awake, not opening his eyes - not wanting to. He raises a hand so that the alarm clock of a voice shuts up. Alex also quietly hopes; he hopes that underneath the dense veil of morning haze that it will be Johnny who he is to wake up to in the dimness of a tension-filled closet, he needed someone talk to other than the walls that heard the bellowing cries of yesterday. He needed a fresh start again.

Somebody pressed a wet rag to his face, gently wiping away the trail of dried up tears while also lessening the puffiness of his eyes. The coolness makes him wince. Alex appreciates it, yet also hates the gesture because the action is how he knows this isn't Johnny. Since Johnny was a guard who was also ostracized by his peers, Alex has seen the doubt and strong hesitation that appears whenever the young soldier would ask for something from anyone that wasn't Alex. Nobody would give his friend a thing if he wasn't nearby. Alex internally bristles at the fact.

In truth, it had been because Johnny was ostracized that he was included in King George's personal staff. If people kept gossiping about the strange kid that never talked about anything other than his thoughts on matters nobody wondered about, then it'd keep all eyes off of George himself. To George, Johnny had been a disposable plot device that stirred up stories about how worthy the 'protagonist' was to be who he is. George was the faux hero who had taken on the role himself, whereas Johnny had been a victim to the fictional tale.

Speaking _of_ his dear friend,

"Wh - where's Johnny? Where is the soldier that I often converse with?" Alex snapped. But his voice was neither strong or calm, his voice was hoarse, shaky due to extensive use; it sounded like someone had to watch their heart be beaten like meat to tenderize it for a casual, meaningless meal; Alex sounded like sunlight trying to break through dense clouds: He sounded weak.

"Oh, you mean his Highness' youngest soldier? He has been sent to a different station to work, so I've been told..." The maid told him, voice nervous and full of an unshaken timid personality that shielded her words from sounding sure.

And he was going to respond. And he was _meant_ to respond. And -

Oh.

It hurt.

It hurt horribly,

Y'know, to hear that his confidante and bestfriend had been forcefully pulled away from his embrace despite Alex's promise that he'd protect him. Wow okay, he had promised just yesterday too. This wasn't supposed to be a big deal though, so let's laugh it off Alexander, Ha haha - God _, fuck, okay -_

 _Holy shit this was painful_.

Alex felt his throat close up as if he were having an allergic reaction to something. Maybe he was having a reaction to the concept of being alone again? Wait, no, he wouldn't be alone - he'd have George. No, no, that's worse than being alone. Okay. Alex sharply inhaled, then quietly ushered for the maid to leave. She did so, of course, but she did it so agreeably - like she didn't want him around anyway. That wasn't new, though, there was a book full of people that didn't want Alex around, so this shouldn't be new. It was new to his heart, though. It was new against all the seconds in the past where Alex had counted, because in those seconds Alex had never felt so ashamed to exist.

God _fucking dammit_ he was supposed to be used to this. He was Prince Alexander Hamilton, the 15-year-old brat that managed to murder a whole collection of soldiers because they had stepped onto his land. He could be powerful. He was a switchblade, sharp on both sides and unmovable in defense. Alex was... Alex was... He was -

He was weak.

Oh.

His nose felt stuffy, his eyes were welling up with tears that dripped in a broken pattern of fat, heavy, plops onto his pants. Not to mention the dams that had been repaired by a family of beavers was then broken by a rush of boiling water from the opposite direction. Once again, Alex had proven himself wrong; he was not 'Prince Alexander Hamilton, the 15-year-old brat that managed to murder a whole collection of soldiers because they had stepped onto his land,' he was Alexander Hamilton, the boy that survived a hurricane and is failing to survive the unfair treatment of a king that probably treats everyone else the same way too.

Alex felt worse now, probably because his mind is working three miles a second thinking of ways to prove to himself that he was, indeed, everything a person could never want in life. The closet felt stuffy once more as Alex realized how much time really passed or him to calm down. He had been whimpering and staring off into a spot in the silence that settled onto the floor like fog.

Yet he couldn't fall asleep in such an uncomfortable place a second time, his back hurt like hell right now, so he walked out of the closet - carefully treading to the bathroom where he then took a hot bath that soaked up the dirt, sweat, snot, and tears that clung to his frame like the affectionate touches from people who had no right to claim him. It wasn't much, but he felt better after letting the leftover tears in his eyes dissolve into the embrace of his bath water.

The moment he was dressed, however, Alex's head began to bubble with ideas and prompts and just _things_ that were just waiting to be written down about. Because sadness made for good paint, and Alex couldn't paint very well so he opted to write down what he wished he could paint. Plus the fact that all he's written down so far was facts he should keep in mind about Johnny, Alexander does not pause for the world to keep up with his quick change as he moves back into the bathroom from the bed he was sitting on, takes another look at himself in the mirror to double check that he looked better than he did half an hour ago, before setting off to their - _no wait_. To _his_ bedroom.

The devastation turned into words. Into rage. He will learn.

When Alex reached his bedroom door, he rolled his shoulders and ignored the confused glances thrown his way by the guards down the hall, plus the guards beside him that kept the door secured. With hands that had once been wet with tears, Alex threw the door open and narrowed his eyes at King George who seemed to have been concentrating on a letter sent to him. There was annoyance that didn't hesitate to borrow Alex's eyes.

An entire three seconds passed, Alex could read George's expression as the other began to work through the implications of who exactly was in front of him, and how angry this person appeared to be. Alex was equipped with words that were as refined as the words written into his many journals and books, he quickly took aim and fired at George before the man could even finish reading the atmosphere that loomed like hell itself over his head. The ice that had been setting into the corners where the darkness lived _burned_.

" _You insolent fool of a king will sleep elsewhere_ ," George's mouth fell slack, a noise crossed between offense and frustration was the only that came out, but then everything fell back into place as George just nodded.

He just nodded and sent an apologetic look to Alex, who royally scoffed it off.

Alex slept soundly in his bed while George felt the weight of his actions fall onto him unknowingly.

This was how they lived from then on out: Alex would bristle and hiss at any compliments directed towards King George, and King George would quietly obey whatever Alex wanted _unless_ , it was the newly turned 16-year-old's demand that Johnny would be sent back to him. Sending Johnny back was a decision George always refused. Their one-sided arguments became something else. They slept in separate bedrooms. They ate during separate times. Eventually, people even thought that there would even be a day where a separate _castle_ be built for Alexander to reside in.

That's right, the entire year where the two had turned the age of sixteen had been like this. Where George had been quiet and lost in thoughts. Where Alex had been chatty, always providing a new perspective to people who dare talk about their king in front of the boy with a lion's mane.

Although it appeared to be a bad ending to an already dead love story, there was a lot of good that came out of their departure. In fact, many letters had been sent back and forth between Johnny and Alex once King George painfully relented the information as to where the teenage soldier was assigned. And all of the workers in the castle had become acquainted with King George's sudden desire to know more about what he is doing wrong as a person. Because where Johnny and Alex's friendship had grown stronger, it is King George's relationship with his maids, servants and soldiers that also strengthened as well.

They were learning. If you were to ask the older workers that had been in the castle for many years, they would tell you that these two were learning from each other. Like how Alex was regaining his bite and confidence, and how George was regaining his humility and social knowledge.

Somewhere into the year where he is now seventeen, Alex had been more than familiar with the libraries filled to the brim like wine to a cup with books that his fingers had already brushed the core of. Alex knows more about the United Kingdom than the United Kingdom can know about itself, and he knows because King George doesn't show that much consideration whenever Alex struts into his office bearing hard-earned confidence, a lust present in his body to read whatever is new to his eyes.

Even despite the fact that they weren't anything more than a pain in each other's neck at this point, King George trusted Alex. The same could not be said for King George himself from Alex, but that came with good reason. Which is why today,

"Alexander -" Alex growled at the careless use of his first name, ready to start shouting at the other when his warning was brushed off, "I wanted to apologize -"

"Don't give me that _fucking bullshit_ apology! You had an entire year _and then some_ to apologize - you _hurt me_ ," Alex shouts, pointer finger digging into George's collarbone through the cravat that shielded it. They are in Alex's bedroom, the door is closed behind them during a time where all the guards have knowingly left them in peace, "You know, you should count yourself lucky I haven't killed you by now, because I _damn well could_ , _George_."

"Yet you didn't. You were writing to my youngest soldier and you were waiting for me to apologize so you could feel rightfully angry just enough that you would yell at me," Alex's anger doesn't waver, instead it increases with the saturation of the bright scarlet blush on his face; a stark contrast to the calm mask that George has built over the months spent enduring the quiet fury of gossip behind his back, "And I will let you, because... The maids, servants and guards have taught me my wrongs, and Alexander I really and truly am s -"

"You shut the _fuck up_ , alright? You shut up and let me speak, when I am done you will _leave_ ," George does not sigh, groan, or whine in annoyance. A king isn't to be impatient. Instead, he only gives a firm nod then takes in the words handed to him after he does. It was better to go with the flow when it came to Alexander's rage, he doesn't want to tip anything right now. His dearest had full rights to be angry with him.

The moment Alex finishes his lecture, scolding, shouting, whatever the hell you'd call his emotional ranting - George dips his head once more before walking out of the room. He misses the way Alex's shoulders relax just slightly as he walks out of there. It was a start to recovery to anyone else that might have been in the room where it happened, but to George, it was a pointless attempt that he'll have to try once more sometime later. Despite the note tucked in the back of his head, later doesn't really come via the swarm of reports from his soldiers.

He is kept busy for some time.

The next month was a blur of hushed serenity that felt a little more shifted than what everyone had been used to; what everyone was used to was frozen, hard silence whenever the two were in the same room. Though it was different now. In fact, Alex had seemed to grow withdrawn and more focused on his work with a paper and quill to express anything outside of complacent irritation. In response to that, George grew more talkative and friendly to those working for him about things outside the realm of relationships and how to make amends.

They were progressing. Little by little there was progress in the way George thought, and there was progress on Alex's deicisions. Hell, there was a time where the maids were even celebrating to themselves in the kitchen about how Alex had actually requested for a certain meal to be made for him. That was huge!

The servants, maids and guards quickly picked up what George had warned them about as well. They even learned to worry about the massive shift in Alex's life style, how he ate less, slept less, but always wrote more and more in the tranquility. As if Alexander begun to think that he was running out of time to feel at peace with himself.

And behind King George's back, a maid by the name of Miss Anastasia told Alex why everyone had become so loose around him. She did so because Alex was growing suspicious and angrier, which could not be had because most of the staff had evidently appeared tired of the resentment and wanted to help dispel it - it'd be a long ride and the month silence was necessary, but it was something everyone in the castle had in common in terms of what they wanted to do.

Miss Anastasia hurried reports back to the older maids about the touched confusion that overlapped the weary irritation Alex usually wore as a casual face of rest. It was a big jump compared to the small steps in the wordless days that gave King George and Alex time to think for themselves.

There is a lot of progress over the days. Small actions like King George delivering tiny gifts like more ink and quills to Alex, and Alex's attempt to be cooperative if King George felt like he should start a conversation. In fact, they even were talking; sure, 'talking' in their definition were curt greetings, but it was still the two _talking_ , though! The staff grew excited and their veins shattered due to the heavy adrenaline that poured into them whenever the two 'conversed'!

Which is why George decided to make one big push. Just to test whether the lake that separated him from Alex was cold or warm. If he had the rights to take a chance at this point of time. Because there had been a war stirring behind their back, and George had been making decisions by himself. Now he doesn't want to. Now he wants to make a choice that may shape his life differently, only _if_ he gets this done correctly, though.

It is summer, and it is raining outside tonight. They are about to leave the year they turned seventeen bearing knowledge only people decades older than them should know - there are bags under their eyes, and both are tired with the mundane. Except George is in Alex's room, he knows something that should change the mundane.

"Alexander, I would like to ask for your opinion about what to do for the upcoming war," There is a pause, King George expects to be questioned as to why he has come to Alex for his opinion but there is nothing. He reels back a smile like a fisherman would reel back a fish, and continues, "It seems a few of my people have decided to... Revolt... Something about independence, I don't know and I really don't care for their purpose, but I do care about what they're willing to do to win - you see, they're rather violent and I... I care about my people, and you represent them the most with your... Uh... Thoughts, so -"

"Who's in charge of their army?" Alex interrupts his unnecessary chattering. The book in Alex's hand is carefully placed onto the bedside table, the glint of pure interest in the boy's eyes is like seeing something brand new and King George just _wakes_ up from how nice the change is. Nevertheless, they are young men in a period where war didn't give a fuck about how old they were - there was work to be done, "Whoever it is will get a taste of what war really is like; so tell me, do you know who it is? Tell me where they live and if they have anybody in relation that lives there."

"George Washington is leading the Continental Army, from what someone has reported back - his wife and child are in Virginia on his plantation where he is in New York City," George then frowns a bit, "I don't understand what this information is for, my dear," He doesn't add anything after 'dear' and although Alex seems to shudder at the nickname, he doesn't voice out his complaints. This is..., a major step forward, "So do tell me what you have in plan."

"I want you to lead a small army to where his family is and burn down his home. Carefully. Send my Little Johnny too, I want him to write down the experience so I can use it as a reference," Alex shifts where he is on the bed, hand reaching out to grab the book to continue his reading - it was a blatant sign that read, 'go away, we're done talking,' except it had felt a little warmer than what the gesture would usually imply. George only let the restricted grin consume him when he turned away to face the door, then said,

"I will send him, but I don't understand how you got the nickname 'Little Johnny' from the name James Madison."

**Author's Note:**

> hi, did you know that "Little Johnny" was one of James Madison's many nicknames?


End file.
